Lucky
by purrpickle
Summary: There are two secrets Angie holds close. Out of them, there's one she'd be more likely to share with Peggy. It is, after all, about how she's capable of feeling about her. The other isn't about that. The other's scary and horrible, and if her luck holds, no one will ever find out. Too bad her luck doesn't hold. Or it does. Angie's still not sure about that. Cartinelli. One-shot.


**A/N:** I don't own Agent Carter nor the characters within. I've been working on this for about twelve hours straight, in between everything else I had to do today. Which means it was written all in one go, pretty much. I'm tired of looking at it, so it's sparsely edited, and probably awkward and uneven. I don't know. It's five in the morning and I'm tired. *grins*

**A/N2:** It's all part of an overarching Marvel universe, yeah? :D

* * *

Angie knew her preternatural luck was in full effect when the leggy brunette from England walked into her automat, chose a booth in her section, set down her striking red Stetson Stratoliner next to her, fluffed her hair out, and smiled at her as Angie approached. "Hey Sweetie," Angie managed, her responding bright and cheery smile sincere, "Haven't seen you before. Need a menu?"

"That would be lovely," the woman nodded, Angie's heart jolting behind her sternum in surprise and appreciation as her accent made itself known; brown eyes dropped to glance at Angie's name tag, "Angie."

Straightening immediately to stop herself from impulsively pushing her chest out, Angie grinned at the woman. "Got'cha. Menu coming right up. You want coffee with that as well?" She paused, a thought coming to her, "Or I could see about scrounging up some tea...?"

The woman's perfectly red lips twitched up. "Coffee is fine. I've rather come to enjoy it."

"Out of necessity or honest appreciation?" Angie blurted. She always could never stop her tongue.

A pleasant laugh left the woman. "There's a good chance that both options are applicable."

"Neat answer." Slipping her notepad into her apron, Angie flashed the woman another grin, knowing she'd better leave before she dropped down into the seat opposite like old acquaintances, "A menu and some mud coming up."

* * *

The luck continued as the woman, Peggy Carter (whom it hadn't taken Angie long to affectionately christen English), continued coming into the diner. Angie learned she worked at the telephone company, had been gainfully employed during the war, was not married, and was one of the most intriguing people Angie had ever met.

They'd even become close enough that when Peggy moved into the hotel with her, cementing an actual friendship, Angie found herself tempted to share her secret.

But she knew she never could. It was even worse than what had made her mother heartbroken after finding her with Florence Bruno in the stairwell. (Truth be told Angie wanted to share that with Peggy as well, but she knew the chances of that happening was about the same as a millionaire stumbling into the automat and proposing to her at first sight.)

Sighing, Angie curled her fingers into a fist to ready herself to rap on Peggy's door. At least she'd learned early on how to control it, so it shouldn't ever be an issue. "It's dinner time," she called, knocking loudly, "You comin' tonight, Peg?"

"Just a minute," Peggy called back, sounds of movement following. Opening the door a few moments later, Angie moved back to let her through.

As always, the other woman was put together, wearing one of her naval-inspired dresses. Hair perfectly curled, red nail polish and lipstick practically professionally applied, Peggy was just as beautiful as she always looked. Smoothing down her own dress above her hips in an uncontrollable nervous reaction, Angie gave her a cheery smile. "Well, don't you look like a million bucks. Got any plans for after dinner?"

Peggy laughed, pleased. "Thank you, Angie, but I'm afraid not. It's a quiet night for me." Starting to walk down the hall, Angie falling into step next to her, she turned the question back onto Angie, "How about you? You're looking lovely tonight."

A soft blush rose on Angie's cheeks, but she laughed it off. "Jeez, English, don't you know how to treat a lady," she teased, lightly bumping their shoulders together. When Peggy smiled, not responding verbally, Angie shook her head, hopping down the stairs. "No. Tonight's one of the few nights I get to go to bed _not_ completely exhausted. I'm going to savor it." She swung on her heel once she reached the second floor landing, grinning up at Peggy and pointing at herself, "This gal's got a new bottle of schnapps and a backlog of pulp magazines my cousin Ernie sent me."

"Pulp magazines?" Peggy looked at her curiously, though nonjudgmentally, "I wouldn't have thought you'd be one to indulge in those... Serials."

Angie shrugged, preceding Peggy into the dining hall. "Guess there's stuff you still don't know about me." She picked up a plate to hand to Peggy.

"I guess there is," Peggy agreed, answering Angie's smile with her own.

* * *

Angie's preternatural luck finally ran out the night she and Peggy went to the cinema. Laughing, chattering about nothing and everything about what they had just watched, Angie's hand tucked into Peggy's arm as they strode down the sidewalk, they decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to drop by that place two streets down from the Griffith that was open late and had tasty milkshakes. It was dusk, cool without being freezing, and Angie, wrapped up in having Peggy's attention, would have been forgiven for not noticing that they were being trailed.

She only figured it out when, having made their way into the soda shop and taking seats while ordering two chocolate malts, Peggy excused herself to the powder room, slipping out the backdoor instead with three shady men who had entered soon after them following her. Frowning, her heart rate sped up as she glanced around, unsure if she really saw what she saw or was making it up.

The part of her that was the Angie Martinelli who had grown up at her uncle Tino's knee told her she wasn't. Placing her purse down safely under her coat, Angie slid out of the booth, tracing Peggy's route.

"Peggy?" she called after pushing the door open, it clanging against the wall of the shop. It was loud, but not loud enough to cover the sounds of a violent scuffle, low grunts and heavy breathing happening in the shadows farther down the alley. Oh god. Angie's fingertips burned. "Peggy? Do you need help?" She stepped out, heart in her throat, apprehension growing. Her fingertips burned hotter. "_Peggy_?"

A feminine grunt sounded as one of the shady men stumbled, groaning, out of the shadows. Making towards Angie as he spotted her, eyes dark and face tight with pain and anger, blood splattered across his cheek, the man growled out, "It's the other dame," and reached for her. In pure instinct, Angie punched him.

Unfortunately, he only swayed back, shaking his head.

Her hand smarting, as it had been a good couple of years since she'd gotten into any serious scrap, Angie frantically glanced around to see if a) Peggy was anywhere nearby, and b) if there was anything she could use as a weapon. She wasn't going to let the burning of her fingers take over.

A man was suddenly thrown out of the darkness to collide with the man who was readying himself for another grab at Angie. Followed by Peggy coming out of the shadows to bean the second man with a milk crate as he started to struggle up, the first man groaned, shuffling away on his hands and knees, lurching up as he approached Angie tensed at the still-open door.

"Angie!" Peggy warned, whacking the man across the head again with the milk crate, "Get out of here! I've got this - I've got this covered."

"It sure don't look like you've got it covered," Angie retorted, stepping into the man and stomping onto his foot, punching him again in the cheek. More pain blossomed in her knuckles, but at least this time the man fell, and she kicked him first in the shin and then in between his legs to make double sure he wouldn't get back up.

Panting, jumping back, she hurriedly looked around the area. "Weren't there three of them?" she asked, "Or he still back there?"

Her awareness prickled only just before hard, heavy arms wrapped around her chest, hot and bad-smelling breath blowing across her neck and mouth as she was pulled roughly into the air and back against a hard body. "Right here, doll."

Angie jerked, struggling as the unknown man's arm slid up to squeeze around her neck, the other falling to brace across her ribs. She flailed, attempting to kick down on his foot or leg, her fingers scraping and digging ineffectively at the thick material of his coat. She could breathe, but not comfortably, and her heels didn't connect.

"Angie," Peggy gasped, immediately jumping away from the two downed men, her wide eyes meeting Angie's equally wide, panicked gaze. Guilt and anger and anguish slashed across her face. "You let go of her!"

When the man's arm receded from around her ribs, Angie had split-second hope that he was going to do what she said. Instead, faster than she would have expected, a hard, blunt point pressed painfully into her ribs. Angie knew right away it was a gun. Suffocating fear and sickly anger seared through her body.

Her fingertips started crackling, and she could feel her control slipping.

The man chuckled darkly. "You're in no position to order me 'round." He jabbed Angie harder in the ribs. "Drop the wood."

Doing so, leaning down to let the crate drop lightly, Peggy straightened, holding her hands up. "Let her go," she entreated calmly, voice low and cajoling, "She has nothing to do with this."

"She sure as hell's guilty of harmin' my boy." The arm around her neck tightened as he gestured sharply at the body of the man Angie had flattened with the hand holding the gun; Angie flinched as it pushed back into her. "That makes her part of this."

Darting her gaze down, her heart pounding, Angie knew that if he removed the gun again, she had to act. As long as it wasn't pointing at her or Peggy, things should go... Better than they could.

It would just mean...

Angie met Peggy's eyes again.

She had to pull up all of her Martinelli courage. Living and Peggy living even with Peggy never wanting to talk to her again, or with the worst possible fallout, would be better than her or both of them dying to keep her secret.

She sharpened her focus onto the burn in her fingertips, fingers grasping tighter into the man's coat.

Peggy swallowed, starting to test shuffling forward, only to stop when the man hissed at her. Pushing her hands up, she nodded. "Alright. Easy. What do you want?"

The man shifted, Angie sagging a little in his grip as his strength wavered. "You know what I want," he responded, the gun still pushing into her. Angie grit her teeth, panting heavily through her nose. Sweat beaded on her forehead. "First it was just the information you have in that pretty li'l head of yours. But now I want payback. And this doll," he chuckled, arm flexing around her neck, "'s gonna help me make sure that happens."

At that moment, the man Angie slugged groaned, Peggy and the man's attention drawing away. Peggy tensed as if to lunge at him in reflex, which made the man holding her jerk his gun out and away. Taking that chance, Angie clamped down on his arm, let go of the burning, and _changed_.

Instantly, her fingers lengthened, her fingernails erupting into razor-sharp points. Puncturing through the man's coat and deep into his flesh, the man screamed, tearing himself away, leaving long furrows in his forearm as her claws ripped through him. Dropping down from his embrace, Angie barely took the time to draw in a deep breath of air before she was up, clawing along his face to force him to close his eyes, her other hand reaching out to circle the wrist of the hand holding the gun, squeezing and scraping and grappling with him until he dropped it, unable to keep up with the pain and slick, hot blood flowing down his wrist.

Shoving him away, finger blades still out as she scrambled for the gun, she wasn't surprised to see him turn tail and run towards the entrance of the alley, whimpering and crying. He was almost tripping from fear, equal amounts of adrenaline and horror making Angie shake. "And stay away!" she snarled at his retreating back, shrieking and whirling around with the gun held awkwardly in her too long fingers at a quiet, inscrutable, "Angie?" Thankfully, the gun ended up clattering harmlessly on the ground as Peggy's palm stopped her forearm, the woman barely flinching as Angie's claws came close to slicing through her blouse.

Freezing, Angie snapped her hands back into shape, taking a step back. Uncaring of the blood congealing on her skin, she hid them behind her back, taking another step away before meeting Peggy's eyes.

Peggy stared at her, her brows furrowed, her jaw tense. She was scuffed up a little, hair mussed from its perfect wave, and sweaty with her makeup messed for the first time Angie had seen. She was breathing deeply, adrenaline fading away, shoulders up as if she didn't want to give away how much energy she had just expended.

Around them, dusk was finally breaking, the shadows from the alley flowing out towards them. It made everything much more sinister, Peggy's face fading into the darkness, and in the back of her mind, Angie wondered how she, herself, looked, and thanked the night for beginning to conceal her.

She didn't know if she should offer up an excuse or demand answers from Peggy first, her decision not being helped by the fact that Peggy wasn't saying anything, either.

Swallowing, offering a blithe, fakest of fake smiles, Angie let her normal forwardness back in. "What a couple of mooks, huh? Good thing they didn't know how to deal with a couple of gals like us." She looked at the slumped bodies of the two men left behind, then surveyed the area entirely, turning her head away. "Say, what were you doing out here anyway? Why they after you?"

"Angie."

Closing her eyes, Angie dropped her chin, then squared her shoulders and turned back. Her fingers curled together behind her back. "English?"

Peggy took a deep breath. "During the war," she started softly, not looking away from Angie, obviously collecting her thoughts as she spoke, "There were people who could do more. Who were specially qualified for certain things, where most would be ill equipped. Or had strengths where others would not. Those who perhaps the majority of people wouldn't believe in."

Angie's heart thumped. "English - "

"Angie," Peggy interrupted gently, stepping forward. Her fingers brushed soothingly along Angie's shoulder and down her arm; Angie shivered, "What I'm saying is that it's okay. You don't need to be afraid."

Blinking excessively, heat welling up in her eyes, Angie whispered, "I'm not alone?"

"You're not alone."

"Well ain't that just..." Angie trailed off, holding back a sob as her chest heaved, laughing in relief and pain and years of terror, moving her hands forward to press the back of one against her eyes.

When Peggy moved in, pulling her into her chest, tenderly stroking her hair and murmuring questioningly if Angie was hurt, Angie dissolved into quiet, releasing sobs, shook her head, and made sure to keep the still drying blood on her hands from seeping into Peggy's threads. That wouldn't be much of an appreciative gesture, now would it.

* * *

"So I have above-average luck and, well, what you saw," Angie disclosed over her malt. It was melted and a little worse for wear, having been sitting at the booth for at least twenty-five minutes, but still delicious, maybe even a little more so because of what they had just been through. "...Though my luck seems to have left me today," she added, grimacing.

She and Peggy had cleaned up in the powder room, thankfully not running into anyone, Peggy having gone around the corner to the nearest phone booth to call up who Angie had been surprised to find was Mr. Fancy. The stiff man asking very few questions after getting a promise from Peggy that she'd explain later, he'd left with the verified passed out men in the trunk of his classy vehicle, him and Angie having exchanged equal amounts of curious and criticizing glances before then.

Watching the receding taillights, Peggy had sighed, crossed her arms, and turned to Angie. "Funny, but I seem to have an increased craving for a malt," she'd commented.

And, "Funny, but I seem to have that same hankering," Angie had responded.

So now here they were.

Taking a sip of her malt, perfect lips pursed around her straw and leaving lipstick stains, Peggy nodded, swallowing as she pulled back. "Thank you for trusting me with this," she said sincerely, "And maybe, but maybe not."

"What do you mean?" Angie played with some of the condensation on her malt glass.

"Though I am incredibly sorry that you got dragged into that fight, and that it was my fault your life was put in danger," Peggy reached forward, squeezing Angie's hand quickly, fleetingly, guilt heavy on her face, "You found someone to share your secret with. Maybe that's what your 'luck', or whatever someone else would view it as, intended?"

Angie looked down. Could it really have...? She licked her lips, then shuffled her shoulders and sat up straight. "Peg, I was the one who followed after you. _I_ put myself into danger. I'm willing to take responsibility for that, so relax that English guilty conscious and forget it, okay?" Pausing, raising her eyebrow to give Peggy a pointed look until she reluctantly nodded, acquiescing, Angie sighed into a small smile, "Besides, it's not like the first time I've injured someone during a fight. Anyway, maybe. Yes. Okay. You know what?" She nodded, brandishing her malt, "Yes. I'll accept that."

Peggy slightly raised her own in an answering toast, smiling indulgently. "Me too."

There was silence between them, in which they glanced at each other, still smiling, a weird mix of guilt and shyness and relief and thoughtfulness flowing between them. Then, Peggy leaned forward. She looked a little unsure, eyes shaded, and when Angie leaned in curiously, "English?", she apparently made a decision.

"Mutants," she breathed, lips thinning.

Angie furrowed her brow. "Mutants?"

"That's what the military called them. What they would call you."

"Mutant?" Sitting back, Angie felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Mutant?

That sounded... Like it wasn't such a good thing to be.

Peggy sighed, then took Angie's hand again. "I'm sorry," she apologized sincerely, waiting for Angie to look up at her, "I thought you'd want to know."

Angie had. "No," she squeezed Peggy's hand, then pulled it back to pick up her malt, smiling, "Thank you."

It felt good to have a name, even if that name didn't feel very comfortable.

* * *

So she was a... Mutant? And Peggy was an agent for the SSR (even if she was currently working against them), Angie thought, lying back on her bed and staring up at her ceiling. Peggy had explained once they'd finished their malts, walked quietly back to the Griffith, each lost in their own thoughts, and made their way into Peggy's room.

Angie had listened intently once Peggy had begun. Asking questions when they came to her, she had swiftly come to the conclusion that everything made so much more _sense_ now, and she'd even managed to squash down the impulse of being angry or upset that the other woman had lied to her; it wasn't like she'd have any standing there.

"It feels good to have someone else who knows," Peggy had admitted genuinely once the rush of confessing and explanation slowed, the night starting to catch up to them.

"It sure does," Angie had agreed, solidly meeting her gaze for countless, heavy seconds before standing up to let herself out.

But Peggy had caught her hand before she got far. Stopping her, she'd leaned in to brush her lips against her cheek. "Good night, Angie," she smiled.

"Good night," Angie smiled back, weak in the knees, turning to go before rolling her eyes at herself to swing back, giving Peggy a kiss on the cheek of her own. Enjoying the look of surprise on the other woman's face as she left, her heart had only slowed when she'd dropped onto her bed, hugged her pillow to her chest, and concentrated on rationalizing the whole day.

Which is where she was now: she was a mutant and Peggy was an agent for the SSR.

If they could accept that about each other, Angie sighed, raising her hand to watch her fingers sharpen and reshape above her, finally curling them into her fist to drop back down, bouncing against her hip, maybe Peggy could accept the other thing about her.

She smirked faintly.

If only she could be so lucky.


End file.
